Earth And Sky
by momoxtoshiro
Summary: "There's something going on with the Grounders. More specifically with Lexa." (Absolutely senseless Clexa fluff drabble collection).
1. Earth And Sky

**I've never written for The 100 before. I can't even specify when in the series this takes place, just that it's probably sometime after Clarke and Lexa kiss (and before the crap hits the fan). This is also being posted a month after I wrote it because I kind of forgot about it, haha.**

 **Regardless, I hope you can enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100.**

* * *

Earth And Sky

Another bustling day at camp had found Clarke on her way to her mother's medical study to take inventory.

Of all the things she could've been doing that might've been the results of a more harrowing string of events, she had to admit this wasn't the worst task to be given. Perhaps it wasn't terribly engaging or even all that interesting, but she knew it was important nonetheless.

She arrived at her destination, finding the room helpfully vacant, and set to work right away. She checked the shelves one by one, sorting bottles by names and ingredients, tossing away the empty ones and taking inventory of what was left on a piece of paper.

She hadn't been there half an hour, absorbed in her work, when a flurry of footsteps that was clearly headed for her had the hair on the back of her neck standing.

Hastily, Clarke put down whatever bottles had been in her hand and turned to face the door, prepared to expect almost anything.

The face that appeared before her was very familiar, worry poorly concealed on an expression that always strived too hard to be unnaturally stern.

"Octavia?"

Puzzled, Clarke hurried over to the door, the concern already knitting on her brow. She gave the girl a quick once-over to ensure she wasn't hurt, then got on with her questions.

"What's the matter?"

Brown eyes flickered up to meet hers. Octavia's countenance was stern as ever, her lips pursed together in a firm line. She seemed rather conflicted about the matter at hand – whatever it may be.

After another few seconds of pregnant silence, the brunette spoke, keeping her voice low so only Clarke could discern it.

"Something's... something's going on," she began.

Instantly, Clarke was on-edge – even more so than she usually was by default. All of the worst-case-scenario thoughts leapt to the forefront of her mind, becoming cognizant thoughts in a split second before tumbling out of her mouth as high-strung words.

"Wrong with what? Is it Mount Whether again? Something with the Grounders? Does my mom need to see me? What about Raven-"

"Hey, hey, whoa, slow down." Octavia put up a hand to stop her. "Maybe if you'd let me finish, you'd find out."

Clarke had to bite down her next question and swallow it. She took a breath, balancing the top row of her teeth on her bottom lip anxiously, her eyes scanning brown. Then, with a small nod, she silently begged the girl to continue.

Octavia's tone remained low, undoubtedly secretive.

"Lincoln told me. There's something going on with the Grounders. More specifically with Lexa."

If Clarke hadn't been anxious enough before, the amount of it coursing through her veins at least tripled now. Despite her own uncertainties with what and how she felt toward the ruthless Commander, she couldn't deny that the simple fact of the matter was she cared.

Maybe it wasn't what she'd had with Finn. Maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was.

She really couldn't be sure.

But there was _something_ – something she didn't really feel for anyone else.

Not even her own people.

Not even for Finn.

And for Clarke, that was more than enough to make her skin crawl.

She must've shown a visual reaction, because Octavia quickly continued.

"Hey, don't freak out. It's not that bad... probably."

"Probably?" Clarke repeated, trying not to raise her voice. "Octavia, what is that even supposed to mean?"

The brunette was silent, trying to choose her words carefully. Her fruitless efforts to try and make Clarke feel any less terrified weren't working.

Running a hand through her hair in a nervous manner, Clarke advanced a step, until she and Octavia were nearly nose to nose.

"Octavia, listen to me," she whispered. "Whatever it is, if it's concerning Lexa, this is no laughing matter. Tell me straight up."

She wasn't asking.

Octavia swept her gaze around the room one last time to ensure they were alone, then went on, maintaining eye contact.

"Lincoln mentioned it to me this morning. He said yesterday at the Grounder's mealtime, Lexa didn't eat. Anything. For the Commander of a clan of hundreds of people, that can't be good, right? Not too many people noticed, but Lincoln did, and maybe a handful of others. Probably Indra. And this morning, Lexa was late getting outside to meet her people. She's _never_ late, Clarke."

Her eyes bore into Clarke's, and the latter chewed on her lip again, thinking. Why else would Lincoln tell Octavia to pass such news on to _her_?

"You think she's sick?" Clarke guessed. "She has a healer, doesn't she?"

Octavia's voice became even quieter.

"That's the problem. She's refusing to see him, Clarke."

"What? Why would she do that?"

"If I knew, do you think I'd be here telling you all of this?" Octavia sighed. "Just think about it, Clarke. She's the Commander of the Grounders. Do you _really_ think they'd tolerate her getting sick?"

That was when it clicked for Clarke.

Octavia knew the Grounders perhaps even better than Clarke herself did; she knew how they behaved – _especially_ when it came to displays of weakness.

Briefly, Clarke recalled what Lexa had told her about on the night Finn had died. If he hadn't been killed – if the Grounder's hadn't had their vengeance and peace of mind with his murder – it would've reflected poorly on Lexa. Her people would have killed her for it.

Clarke reminded herself that was one of the only reasons she herself had killed Finn.

But mercy wasn't the only act of weakness the Grounders sought to punish. They wanted to eradicate weakness in any form – particularly mental or physical.

Clarke's mind was whirring with thoughts now, her chest already tightening.

"If she doesn't get better soon, they'll kill her," she muttered.

Octavia didn't even blink as she nodded again.

"It's only been a day since she's started to show symptoms," Octavia said. "But people have begun to notice, Clarke. I don't know how much longer she has."

Clarke heard the drop of worry in Octavia's voice that time. Despite her personal qualms with Lexa, Octavia couldn't deny that the Commander was a vital person in all of this. If they lost her now...

Clarke still wasn't sure if she could trust Lexa's spirit to choose a smarter person to take her place.

By this time, Clarke was already hurrying across the room, locating a small hand bag of hers. She rummaged around a few drawers where her mother often kept medical supplies, making sure to take enough, but not too much.

As she continued to pack, Octavia followed behind her a pace.

"You're going over there?"

After putting in a few small bottles, Clarke slipped a small rag into her bag, then zippered it. She slung the strap over her shoulder, straightened her back, and faced the other occupant of the room.

"What, did you think I'd just stay here after you told me all of that? Isn't this the reason why you came all the way here to tell me? Because you _want_ me to go?"

Octavia said nothing, merely watching Clarke with unreadable eyes. She may not have liked Lexa, but she clearly didn't hate her, either.

Clarke offered a small smile, both to ease Octavia's mind and her own.

"Thank you for telling me, Octavia. Thank Lincoln too the next time you see him. I'm going to do something about this. Don't tell anyone else what you've told me."

Octavia didn't even bother to roll her eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, Clarke. But you know if you can't do something about this, it'll only be a matter of time before word starts to spread."

Clarke nodded solemnly and took a deep breath.

She started for the door, her stride long and purposeful, eyes forward and shoulders back. She only paused when Octavia called out to her once again.

"The Grounders could have any kind of diseases," she said. "Maybe even things we've never seen before. Do you think you can save her?"

Clarke paused, her hand lingering on the drape that would take her outside. She didn't look back as she replied.

"I hope so."

With that, she vanished behind a flurry of fabric.

* * *

The day was cool and misty outside, enough to make her shiver upon leaving shelter.

Everyone seemed to be occupied with one thing or another, and it was an easy feat to slip away amongst a crowd. She'd done it a million times before, and by now, Clarke was an expert at it.

She made her way to the edge of camp, giving a few nods to the casual greeting sent her way.

Despite her misgivings and the way her stomach was flipping, she did her best to maintain a somewhat easygoing expression. She couldn't let anyone know where she was headed or why. She knew full-well that there were plenty of people here who would jump at the notion of the Grounder's Commander being ill.

Eventually, she'd gotten away without a fuss, and once it was only open forests ahead of her, she started to increase her pace.

Before long, she was moving at a steady jog, but was certain not to let her objective of getting to the Grounder's base cloud her judgement. She was still in a hostile environment.

Keeping her eyes and ears open and alert, she continued onward, silently counting her blessings that not Bellamy or anyone else had caught her and tried to stop her – or worse – demanded to come along.

Surely, it wouldn't be long before she started to be missed, and Clarke knew a dozen people who'd guess right away where she'd gone without saying so much as a word to anyone. She needed to get this done, and quickly.

She trekked through the undergrowth, following an invisible path that had become oddly familiar to her over the weeks. Her feet carried her automatically, allowing half her mind to dedicate itself to keeping wary of danger, and the other half to worry about what she might find in Lexa's quarters.

 _God, I hope I can be early enough to treat it before it gets worse..._

Despite the fact that she'd been making an effort to maintain a rather urgent pace, it felt as though it had taken twice as long for her to reach her destination this time around.

Funny the effects worrying about someone could have on the brain and the illusion of felt time.

It wasn't long before her presence was noticed on their territory. Clarke could discern the snapping twigs and crunching leaves even before the Grounders had revealed themselves to her.

When they did, Clarke felt her stomach jump just a little bit. It wasn't fear – far from it – but more akin to... displeasure?

Indra wasn't exactly her favorite person after all.

The amazon halted her patrol troop to give Clarke a once-over, her stern expression as terrifying and intimidating as ever. When she spoke, it was with as much disdain as ever.

"Sky girl," she uttered. "What business do you have here?"

Clarke fished around in her mind for an answer, realizing she didn't have a good one. She couldn't declare she'd been informed of Lexa's evident illness by Octavia. Not only would it endanger Octavia for spreading Grounder news without permission, but it could also endanger Lexa's life if Clarke were to spill the news of her sickness thoughtlessly.

Naturally, Clarke came up with the most convincing answer she could.

"Your Commander sent for me."

She expected all kinds of follow-up questions. "What is the purpose of your meeting?" "Who was the envoy who fetched you?" "Why haven't I been informed of this supposed meeting?"

But perhaps it was easy enough to infer that Clarke's and Lexa's business was no one's but their own, and that the messenger had been a girl who tended to switch between camps at will.

The fact that Clarke had ventured out alone probably also helped to lower the suspicion of her unannounced appearance. And if the Commander herself had sent for her...

"Fine. Come with us. We'll escort you back." With that, Indra turned and gave the signal for her troop and the visitor to follow.

Clarke was nothing short of astounded when the woman didn't press her further for information about this. It was probably safe to assume that she and Lexa were significant enough figures in their respective camps to be able to arrange a private meeting with one another and not be questioned about it.

Clarke followed the Grounders back to their camp, noticing more than a few familiar faces amongst them. But not the one she'd been hoping for.

In a way, that might've been for the better; had she encountered Lexa out here performing her duties as per usual, Clarke would've had no good explanation as to why she herself was here. She had to remind herself that Lexa hadn't actually requested an audience with her, and that Clarke was just walking around the Grounders' camp right now on a lie.

Nonetheless, she kept her mouth shut as she followed along.

As they progressed, the rest of the troop gradually broke off, until it was only Indra leading her.

They arrived at the familiar tents of Lexa's quarters. Indra spoke a few words to the guards there in their language. Although Clarke didn't understand all of it, she recognized the word for "Commander" as well as a tone of slight suspicion.

But when the guard looked upon Clarke, he didn't seem to be wary at all, and he allowed her passage.

"Thank you." Clarke dipped her head to him, but was more than a little dismayed when Indra pushed in front of her, clearly intent to guard her like a prisoner every step of the way.

The sunlight was blocked out by tarps on all sides now, making for a very dull illumination inside the small tunnel of sorts. Clarke treaded slowly, trying not to seem too eager or anxious.

Up ahead, she could see the familiar interior, complete with several tables and shelves covered in maps, books, parchment, and various other items. On the far end was a small hammock, padded with only the best of dusty quilts that Grounders could construct.

Clarke's eyes were drawn there first and foremost, expecting to find Lexa resting there.

But she was rather unpleasantly surprised to see the girl standing in front of one of the tables, a hand to her chin, her eyes focused as though in deep thought. She sure didn't seem ill.

But then again, that was probably for the better. Had Indra of all people walked in to find the Commander slacking off in bed while the rest of them slaved away in their perilous daily activities, Lexa would've been dead by sunset.

Even so, Clarke approached her cautiously, like a deer approaching a wolf, more cautious than curious; she didn't want to say or do anything that might tip Indra off.

Naturally, Lexa lifted her head to the two visitors, her eyes instantly widening with interest, but just subtly enough for only Clarke to notice. Her gaze flashed to Indra, then back to the Sky Girl. Clarke cleared her throat, about to announce her presence.

But Indra beat her to it. With a grunt that indicated how displeased she was by Clarke's presence, she dipped her head to Lexa.

"Commander. I've brought you the Sky Girl, as per your request."

Clarke held her ground and Lexa's gaze, lips pursed into a tight line, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her eyes silently begged Lexa to go along with it.

Lexa seemed to quietly consider it for a moment, weighing her options of what might happen if she informed Indra that she'd never sent for Clarke at all.

Luckily, she wasn't so heartless when it came to Clarke.

With a slow nod, she dismissed Indra.

"Thank you, Indra. Leave us be."

The amazon bowed again, then took her leave, vanishing through the drapes with a swing of her arm.

Clarke listened to her heavy footsteps stomping away, waiting until they'd stopped. Lexa's dark eyes were still on her own, piqued with interest. The girl squared her armor-clad shoulders and turned to face her guest.

"Clarke," she said in that observatory way of hers. "This is a surprise."

"Lexa-" She took a hasty step forward, one hand leaving her side, reaching out. It was a motion she'd grown comfortable with in the familiarity of whom it was intended for.

However, she needed to remind herself that they were in the middle of the Grounder's camp right now. She recoiled her hand and cleared her throat.

Lexa's eyes narrowed very slightly; had Clarke not known any better, she would've called it suspicion.

The Commander slid her hands off the table, her full attention now on the blonde girl, expectantly awaiting some form of explanation.

Clarke cleared her throat again and righted her posture.

"Lexa," she said again. "There's... no easy way to avoid the issue. Please don't take offense... but I heard you weren't exactly feeling well."

At that, the girl's eyes widened, stretching the black war paint coating her cheeks. A million different things flashed in her eyes in those few seconds, and Clarke recognized a handful; there was confusion as to how Clarke had found out, anger at whomever had informed her, realization that it could've been no one else but Octavia, a decision to deal with that matter another time...

And then there was uncertainty, which – in Clarke's experience with the proud Commander – was as close as she was ever going to get to fear. Had more of Lexa's people noticed her weakness within the past few days? Were they planning to execute her right this very moment?

The thoughts and questions swirled around in her eyes like streaks of mud being tossed by a hurricane. But then she blinked and seemed to remember she wasn't alone in the storm.

Slowly, her eyes started to clear as though the sun had emerged and the rains had ceased.

It felt like an eon before she spoke again, and to Clarke's surprise it wasn't angry.

"So it was noticeable..."

Another observation, this time about herself.

But Clarke cut in in an effort to sooth her.

"Not from what I hear," she said quickly. "It sounded like only a few people noticed. And they were cautious enough to send for me."

Lexa lifted her chin importantly, a display not unlike a cobra opening its sail to try and appear more intimidating than it actually was.

"So Indra let you in-"

"Because I told her you'd sent for me directly," Clarke confirmed. "Even while that might've been a lie, she must've known there was good reason for me walking into the heart of your camp. She probably has her own suspicions that you might not be well. If that's the case, you'll have the entire clan rallying at your door with swords drawn by nightfall."

She took another step forward, purposefully swinging her right arm to reveal the bag she'd brought along, full of medical supplies. "Lexa, please. If something's the matter and your healer can't deal with it-"

"I never asked for him," the Commander declared. Clarke frowned.

"Well, you should have! Lexa, you can't just let yourself get sick and do nothing about it. Your people will kill you for showing weakness."

"Then let them," she grunted, turning back to her work on the table. "It is our way."

"No." Defiantly, Clarke stomped up to the girl, forcing herself to pause a few feet away in case the illness was contagious. She bore her piercing blue gaze up into earthy green, tone low. "I am _sick_ of hearing about your 'ways'. Like it or not, we're a team now, Lexa. I've accepted enough of your 'ways'. It's time you accepted some of mine. And mine include not sitting idly by as people I care about suffer. You should know that by now."

Lexa turned and met her eyes levelly, though Clarke didn't miss the almost nervous swallow down her throat.

"I'm not suffering, Clarke."

"Not yet. But you and I both know very well that it won't be long now." She didn't blink, simply continued boring her gaze into the Commander's. "Lexa. I'm here now. Why not just let me help? At this point, I'm the best chance you've got."

The Grounder snorted softly.

"And what if I can get better on my own?"

At that, Clarke revealed a tiny smirk.

"You're stubborn, Lexa. But you're not stupid. You know as well as I do that your spirit won't be able to choose someone half as smart as you to be the next Commander if you die. And is this really how you want to go? Withering away in secrecy until your own people turn on you and slaughter you? Wouldn't you rather die healthily in battle giving your all for them?"

The ensuing silence told Clarke she'd made a valid point, one Lexa was thinking hard on. The blonde continued, lowering her voice a little, and allowing an ounce of concern to trickle in.

"In _my_ ways, sometimes admitting that you're wrong is strength, Lexa. And sometimes, laying down your pride and asking for someone else's help is, too."

She waited now for some kind of response. Should Lexa refuse her, Clarke would insist again and again as many times as possible until she was physically removed from the room.

Something must've told Lexa as much, because her shoulders lowered ever-so-slightly in defeat. Perhaps Clarke's words had truly touched her. Or perhaps she really was sick and in pain.

"Very well, Clarke." Lexa lifted her eyes once more to blue and gave the tiniest nod. "Do as you will."

Clarke felt as though a gnarled root that had been coiling a tight knot in her stomach had just been loosened. Loosened – not untangled. Lexa's admittance that she needed help didn't mean Clarke had already cured her.

"Thank you," she sighed, smiling. But it didn't last long enough for Lexa to reflect it with her own lips. Clarke was already brushing up to the Commander, taking her hand firmly, and leading her over to the hammock. "Here. Sit down."

Lexa paused for a moment and looked to Clarke. But the blonde paid her no heed, already rummaging through the bag at her side, not even willing to look at her directly at the moment.

The message was clear – Lexa wasn't in command here. Not anymore.

Clarke felt the gloved fingers slowly uncurl from her own. Lexa did as she'd been ordered to and sat on the edge of the hammock.

With Clarke on her feet as she was, she suddenly felt not only taller than Lexa, but older as well. Suddenly, this wasn't the Commander of the savage Grounders. This was just a sick girl. A patient. Someone only Clarke could help.

With a renewed vigor flickering within her stomach, she pulled out a small rag and a canteen from the bag.

"What are the symptoms?" she asked. As she spoke, she removed the lid from the canteen and poured a small bit of water onto the rag. Lexa watched her closely.

"Heat," she reported. "And discomfort in my stomach."

"Heat..." Clarke mumbled. "Heat where?"

"Everywhere."

"Okay. So there's already a fever..." Clarke moved a step closer and then took a seat on the edge of the hammock beside her. "I'm going to need to feel your temperature." Her eyes asked if that was permissible.

Lexa blinked, then dipped her head in a slight nod.

Keeping the rag in one hand in her lap, Clarke reached out with the other. Carefully, she brushed Lexa's stiff bangs aside, revealing the dark brown skin of her forehead. It wasn't caked in the usual layer of dirt or paint, so Clarke could safely assume Lexa had bathed rather recently.

She pressed the back of her hand against Lexa's forehead. She didn't need to wait long at all before she felt the unnatural heat wafting off the skin. It seeped into her own, making her skin crawl.

From what she could discern, it was a rather high fever.

Clarke held her hand in place a moment longer, chewing her bottom lip.

"Have you been outside at all today?" she wondered. She hoped that some of this heat might just be a result of being out in the sun.

To her dismay, Lexa shook her head.

"Not yet. I've been inside all morning."

"Okay..."

Clarke withdrew her hand at last, a contemplative expression forming in her features. She noticed how Lexa kept avoiding her gaze, something not at all common for the prideful Commander.

Part of Clarke told her it was due to the fever. Another part told her it was something else entirely.

She'd be lying if she'd said that the thought of a foolish, average-looking girl such as herself making the ruthless Commander fall head over heels didn't flatter her. After their previous incident, she still didn't know where they stood in terms of their relationship, at least romantically.

Either way, it wasn't something she should be thinking about right now.

She withdrew her hand, immediately noticing the little flecks of paint and sweat that came back with it. What she needed to ask next probably wasn't going to go over well.

"Alright. Since we know you've got a fever, you should probably remove any excess clothing."

At that, Lexa looked directly at her and seemed to take offense.

"I don't need to do that. My people are all outside slaving away, Clarke. I'm not going to take it easy in here."

"Lexa, if you're really sick and your life hangs in the balance, taking it easy is _exactly_ what you need to be doing right now. I know you trust your spirit to choose the next Commander wisely, but I'm not sure if I do." She lowered her voice a notch and bore her gaze directly into Lexa's. "I still need you, Lexa. Here. With me. So please..." She flashed her glance down to the heavy fabrics and armor weighing down on the girl's shoulders.

Still, Lexa hesitated, but at least it wasn't a refusal. Clarke gave her another verbal nudge.

"Lexa, the sooner we figure out what's wrong, the sooner I can help you, and the sooner you can get back to work."

It worked.

To Clarke's relief, Lexa shifted one of her arms in an effort to pull it free from her armor. Various clasps and buckles held fast, making it difficult for her to undo them with just one hand.

Carefully, Clarke slid closer, putting the rag aside for the moment.

"May I?"

Lexa eyed her, pulling her gaze across Clarke's face until she found her eyes. A slight not gave her consent.

Clarke reached out, sure fingers finding the clasps at the center of Lexa's collar. She pushed and pulled, unwound and unclipped until everything had been loosened. She tugged the top layer of Lexa's armor off, sliding it down her shoulders and off her arms one at a time.

Clarke was instantly aware of the weight of the material, constructed of something akin to leather and easily weighing several pounds. She'd carried her fair share of luggage in her time, but dreaded to think of having to wear something like this every waking hour, even when she was only loitering in her own camp.

It reminded her of how strong Lexa was – or at least appeared to be.

But as soon as the armor had been shed, the girl sitting beside her suddenly didn't look like the same intimidating Commander she'd always known.

Her shoulders – while still sturdy – were much smaller now, thinner. The same could be said for her arms and chest, where her looser brown shirt showed in wrinkles just how thin Lexa really was.

At the very least, Clarke could determine she wasn't malnourished or anything of the sort, but if she'd had to guess, she would've assumed Lexa weighed perhaps less than herself without all the extra clothing.

Clarke cradled the armor in her lap for a moment before hanging it up on the far end of the hammock.

Now, Lexa's posture suffered, as though the previous weight had been keeping her upright. She hunched a bit, a few locks of her intricately-braided brown hair slipping down over one shoulder.

Clarke realized she was staring.

Lexa heaved a small sigh, one she'd probably hoped would go unnoticed.

But Clarke was on high alert right now, and wasn't about to let anything slip by her. It led them into their next plan of business anyway.

"Have you experienced any difficulty breathing? Anything at all?"

Lexa sniffed once.

"Not really."

"Any sneezing? Coughing? Headaches? Pain anywhere?"

"A few of those," Lexa confessed. "I'd passed the headache off as a lack of sleep. There was a lot of coughing last night."

Clarke said nothing, every word out of Lexa's mouth causing her fears to rise up a little higher.

"Okay... Any vomiting?"

"...No. But I felt like I'd almost reached that point a few times."

Clarke nodded, feeling her own stomach twist again. She picked up the wet rag again and handed it to Lexa.

"Hold it over your forehead to help keep the fever down a bit."

Lexa nodded and did as she was instructed.

The way she obeyed Clarke's orders – almost without question – told the blonde two things; how deeply even a Commander respected a healer, and how much Lexa was clearly suffering.

Clarke put a hand to her chin and pondered her next plan of action.

"I'll need to measure your pulse."

The look Lexa gave her was almost dubious, as if she couldn't understand why that would matter.

"How?" Lexa wondered.

Clarke looked down to Lexa's lap, at the hand that wasn't pressing the rag against its owners forehead.

"It's simple. Just give me your arm."

Another moment of hesitation.

Another sigh.

Another count of Lexa giving in.

She held out her arm toward Clarke.

Just before she took it, Clarke noticed the way Lexa's fingers were trembling slightly in midair. She wasn't sure if it was a symptom of the sickness or of nervousness. Her own methods of diagnosis were probably a bit different than the designated healer's, and Lexa probably wasn't sure what to expect from all this.

Clarke let a soft smile form on her lips. She reached out with both hands and gently enveloped Lexa's with them.

"Don't worry," she reassured. "I'll take care of you."

As soon as her fingers closed over Lexa's, the trembling stopped. Clarke lifted her eyes once more, seeking hers. Lexa only held her gaze for a brief second before she had to look away again.

"Go on," she mumbled.

Clarke took a few seconds to appreciate how bashful she was being.

Then it was time to set to work again.

She turned Lexa's hand so the palm was facing upward in her lap. Then she began to roll up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing inch by inch of tanned skin few had ever seen before.

She immediately noticed the battle scars, some as short as her fingernail and some that traveled from Lexa's wrist to her elbow. Some were fresher than others, the pink outlines standing out against the color of her skin. But most of the scars had been mended as much as possible, covered by a thin veil of skin that was never quite enough to make them disappear altogether.

She stopped rolling once the shirt's material had bunched up at Lexa's elbow, exposing her forearm and the faint blue veins settled beneath.

It was such a typical procedure, but somehow, Clarke felt privileged. It felt almost intimate to be doing something like this with the mighty Commander, touching skin that had never before been touched.

Her fingers danced lightly atop Lexa's forearm, tracing one of the many scars until she paused just above her veins. Here, she looked back up at her patient, indicating she was ready and silently asking if Lexa was, too.

"I'll need to count for a full minute," Clarke explained. "If the number's anything distinctly higher or lower than seventy, then we have a problem."

Lexa said nothing, her silence perhaps an indication of her uncertainty. Clarke couldn't be sure. Her free hand slipped beneath Lexa's, cradling the back of her bare hand and knuckles. The other stayed on her upturned wrist, waiting.

"Are you ready?"

Lexa looked away.

"Go ahead."

"Alright. Just... try to relax if possible, okay? Close your eyes."

Lexa bit her bottom lip, then released it. She nodded, and her eyelids fell.

Clarke nodded as well, until she remembered Lexa couldn't see her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'll start now."

She pressed her index, middle, and ring fingers onto the side of Lexa's wrist, right beside the vein.

At first, it was a little difficult to discern her own pulse from the foreign one, but there was one thing that set them apart. Lexa's pulse was arguably faster, flitting beneath her fingertips nearly two times for every one flutter of Clarke's own. She tried to push the worry aside and concentrate for the moment, then closed her eyes to begin counting.

Clarke tapped her foot on the ground every second to track the minute, simultaneously keeping Lexa's pulse number in her head as well.

For a short while, the only sounds that reached them were the distant noises of the Grounder camp, the persistent tapping of Clarke's shoe against the soil, and Lexa's shaky breathing.

When the minute was finally up, Clarke loosened her grip on the girl's wrist with a sigh. She wiped her own hand over her forehead and broke the silence verbally.

"Okay. I'm finished."

She didn't miss the way Lexa seemed to swallow rather hard before her eyelids lifted again. She, too, wiped her forehead, though she used the wet rag rather than her hand, getting a second of relief from the coolness. When she drew it away and let it fall back into her lap, her eyes ultimately went to Clarke.

"So? How is it?"

Clarke could tell she was trying to sound unconcerned. She really was. But the way she swallowed again, the way her eyes shivered and her hand trembled in Clarke's...

Lexa was nervous, too.

Clarke straightened her back a little and met her gaze head-on.

"It's a little fast," she confessed. "A little _too_ fast for someone who's been inside her room all morning and not doing anything particularly strenuous."

Lexa released a small sigh, and Clarke could hear it tremble.

"So you think-"

But before she could finish her sentence, her voice suddenly hitched in an awkward way. A single cough forced its way up her throat, but it didn't stop there. In only a few seconds, the tent was filled with the sounds of hacking bouts. Lexa hunched forward, fists clenching in her lap, her hair falling over the fronts of her shoulders.

Clarke was so taken aback that it took her a second to react, her jaw agape and eyes wide with fear.

"Lexa!"

Her hands instinctively shot forward, one to hold onto Lexa's and the other to press against the girl's back. The coughs raked her body – even past the layers of Lexa's hair and shirt, Clarke could feel her back heaving underneath.

Her coughs sounded so... _hard._ Painful. Like they scraped against her throat every time. The way she struggled to control herself and failed was unsettling, her breathing ragged and wild.

Clarke squeezed both of Lexa's hands beneath hers, patting her back firmly.

"Hey, hey!" she whispered. "Lexa, calm down! It's okay."

Her words weren't necessarily the truth, though. If this fiasco had been loud enough to alert others from outside, someone would definitely get suspicious as to their Commander's condition.

Clarke couldn't afford anything like that happening.

The coughing continued, and she could only think to try and stifle it if she couldn't stop it.

"Shh, shh..." she murmured. "Lexa, _please_..."

Her hand left the Commander's, only to wrap around the front of Lexa's collar and shoulders instead. Clarke pulled her in close, letting the girl cough into her shoulder, muffling the sounds.

"You're okay," Clarke soothed. "Easy. Just breathe." She ran her hand up and down Lexa's back as the attack continued, though the coughing was a bit softer now.

Clarke did her best to quiet her, forgetting entirely for the moment that this was the ruthless Commander she held crumpled in her arms. It reminded her that Lexa really was just a girl, not unlike herself.

After a full minute or so had passed, the last of the coughs worked their way out.

Following that, it was a lot of grunting and panting on Lexa's part. She didn't even have the energy left to make an effort to sound composed anymore. It was just a string of gasps, so deep and so desperate that Clarke could feel the girl's chest heaving.

She was at a loss for what to do at this point. But Lexa wasn't pushing herself or Clarke away.

So Clarke stayed like that for another moment, rubbing her palms up and down Lexa's back and over her sides.

"Easy..." she whispered. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay."

Again, she wasn't sure if that was the truth. If anyone had heard and decided to march inside to see what was amiss, it probably wouldn't end well for the sick Commander. Clarke could only hope the usual sounds of the camp and surrounding forests had drown out Lexa's coughing fit just now.

She kept her loose hold on the flustered girl, feeling the way Lexa's body was beginning to calm down. Clarke couldn't help but notice how tense her back was, hard with muscle from all the fighting, all the physical labor she needed to do on a daily basis.

If no one else discovered Lexa's sickness and if it wasn't anything too serious, Clarke thought it might've actually been beneficial to her if it meant Lexa could take a day off to rest.

At last, Lexa's shoulders stopped trembling, and the gasping ceased as well. Clarke let her up without resistance, though she did have to fight a small part of herself that desperately longed to pull her back in and keep her there until nightfall.

It was her turn to swallow as she sought the Commander's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Lexa took a moment to pull her hair back to its original position behind her back, her gaze shifting from one object in the room to the next before it ultimately came to rest on Clarke.

"Didn't you say I would be?"

Clarke met her words with silence for a moment, her eyes once again being drawn to Lexa's. They sucked her in like quicksand, and it was never easy to escape them.

"Yeah..." she muttered. Clarke cleared her throat, blinking as an excuse to look away. "Has that... happened before?"

The Commander dipped her head.

"Last night after supper," she reported. "I was alone in here. No one else heard. But it wasn't this bad last time."

"I see..."

 _So it's getting worse,_ she thought. _The cough and the fever..._

The thought reminded her of the rag beside them, and Clarke picked it up once more to hold it against Lexa's forehead. More sweat had beaded there during the coughing fit just now, and she gently wiped it away.

Clarke could assume this was the first time in a long time – or possibly even ever – that anyone had treated Lexa this way, with such fragility. She was used to rougher treatments, chipping away the stone rather than polishing it. Clarke felt a little special in thinking she might've been the first to be so tender with her.

She was pulled back to the present when another tiny cough slipped past Lexa's lips. Clarke remembered the canteen she'd packed and quickly grabbed her bag. She pawed through it until she'd found what she sought, then quickly handed it to Lexa.

"Here. It'll help soothe your throat."

When Lexa hesitated for a moment, Clarke simply transferred the canteen into her palm and left it there. She waited patiently as Lexa took a sip, almost tentatively, as though she didn't like the idea of possibly choking again.

Clarke couldn't blame her. She didn't like it, either.

But things went without a hitch this time, and Lexa passed the canteen back gratefully.

"Thank you."

"It's fine."

Clarke put the water away into her bag, then was onto her next order of business with the matter.

At least no one from outside had come in, so she could presume the sounds of Lexa's fit hadn't carried terribly far. A small blessing in all of this, for sure.

But she automatically noticed when Lexa moved one hand to her abdomen and winced. Gently, Clarke reached out to touch her shoulder.

"How's your stomach? Do you feel like you might be sick?"

Lexa flashed her a helpless glare, hating her own uselessness.

"Not sure."

"Just take it easy. Here." Clarke helped her straighten her back, hoping it would allow Lexa to breathe more evenly. She could hear the slight wheeze in every one of Lexa's inhales, and how every exhale was choppy. "I need to find out how badly congested you are," she decided.

"How can you do that?" Clarke brought a hand to her chin.

"I don't have a stethoscope..."

"A what?"

"Nothing. Just a tool doctors use... I guess I can improvise, though. If it's okay with you." She sought Lexa's eyes once again, her own gaze pleading.

Lexa swallowed once more before dipping her head.

"Do whatever you need to, Clarke."

There was resolve in her voice now. She wasn't going to simply lay down and die if there was something that could be done to prevent it.

Clarke offered a flash of a smile.

"Alright. First, I'll just need you to keep sitting up straight."

Her words seemed to make Lexa realize that she'd already started to slouch again without her own conscious consent. With a small grunt, Lexa moved herself a bit, straightening out her back and shoulders.

Clarke slipped one hand behind the girl's back against her hair, helping to support her better. She balanced her other hand at the center of Lexa's collar, just beneath her throat. It was almost strange how she felt the Commander visibly stiffen at the contact. Clarke quickly explained herself.

"I need to feel if there's anything in your chest or throar. If there is, I can help you get it out with medicine."

Lexa said nothing, merely curling her fingers on her lap. Her eyes flicked about the room restlessly, but as soon as they landed on Clarke, they only stayed for half a second.

"Fine."

Clarke understood this was probably a little uncomfortable for her, for more reasons than one.

"I'll try to be quick," she promised. "Take deep breaths, okay? I need to feel if there's anything clogging your lungs."

Lexa gave another nod, deciding it would be best to close her eyes once more.

Clarke was so close to her now. She caught Lexa's distinct, earthy scent on every breath, and could safely assume Lexa was breathing her in as well.

Clarke did her best to focus on what she needed to feel, one hand between the girl's shoulder blades and the other at the center of her collar.

"Breathe in through your nose," she instructed. "And out through your mouth. Slowly, please."

Lexa did as she was told, once more obeying without question. She kept her eyes closed, and her chest expanded on a long inhale.

Clarke concentrated on her palm, trying to feel for any abnormalities. There was a very slight ripple beneath Lexa's collar. It almost felt like multiple tiny bubbles forming and popping in rapid succession. When she exhaled, it felt as though all of those bubbles jumbled themselves in a disarray.

Clarke grimaced, biting into her lower lip.

"Again," she murmured. "Let me just feel a few more times..."

Again, Lexa inhaled, and again Clarke felt more worry prickle through herself. Every breath Lexa took quivered in a way that was painfully uncharacteristic, and her heartbeat was forceful enough to register in Clarke's palm.

She did her best not to flatter herself, understanding that a small fraction of it might've been due to Lexa's potential feelings for her. But she could tell the majority of it was a result of the sickness.

On her next breath, Lexa coughed again, and Clarke could feel her heart jump.

"Hey, hey," she whispered. "Easy..." She patted the other girl's back a few times, but it seemed that cough had come and passed alone, which was a relief.

Clarke waited for another moment, until she'd felt enough. Lexa's heart was straining a bit, and her chest was congested. But aside from the coughing fits and the fever, she didn't seem to be seriously ill.

With a sigh, she let her hands fall back into her lap.

Lexa opened her eyes and looked expectantly up to her.

"Well...?" she murmured. "How bad is it? What do I do?"

Clarke did her best to offer a reassuring smile.

"It's actually not that bad. Nothing life-threatening, anyway. It might've gotten to that degree if I hadn't gotten here when I did. You can thank Octavia for that. As for what you need to do..."

She pulled out her bag once more and reached in, extracting several small white bottles. She glanced over the labels for a moment before making her selection. She poured out two pills into her palm and held them out to Lexa.

" _You_ just need to rest. Take these."

The Commander didn't budge.

"Rest? Clarke, I told you. I'm not going to sit idly inside all day while my people are out there-"

"And _I_ told _you_ ," Clarke snapped. "I'm not letting them kill you for a minor sickness that can be treated with a good night's rest. Like it or not Lexa, I can't let that happen." Her tone lowered, but her eyes didn't waver for a second. "I still need you, and... I know I'm going to for a long time yet."

Her eyes bore into that familiar green, striking irises that brought her comfort even when she was alone. Those eyes gave her strength when she felt all hope was lost, they granted her the ability to think and focus amongst chaos, and they stayed with her on nights when it felt like no one else was there.

She wondered if her eyes had the same effect on Lexa.

Part of her hoped they did.

Another moment passed between them, unnoticed and uninterrupted. Movement soon had Clarke glancing down again. Lexa had opened her hand.

With relief, Clarke transferred the pair of one-inch pills into her palm.

"Thank you. Just swallow them. I'll get you some-"

But before she could even reach for the canteen, Lexa had already pressed her palm to her lips and tilted her head back, swallowing both pills dry. Clarke felt her skin crawl just at the thought of it, but she quickly shook her head.

"Wow. Well, you should have some water anyway. Keeping hydrated is essential when you're sick."

She passed off the canteen, and Lexa took a few gulps before sealing it and handing it back.

"Will this be all?"

Clarke shook her head.

"Not yet. You've got one last thing you need to do."

She packed everything back into her bag, then moved herself over from where she sat on the edge of the hammock. Invitingly, she waved her hand toward the space left behind.

"Rest."

The Commander looked about to shoot to her feet, throw her armor back on, and burst out of the tent. If that ended up happening, Clarke would only be able to pray she didn't collapse.

But luck was on her side. Something pacified Lexa's desire for activity – be it the fatigue brought on by the sickness, the aftereffects of the pills, or her own presence, Clarke had no idea.

But whatever it was, she was grateful for it.

Lexa stayed put, though she didn't seem all too thrilled about it.

Clarke gave her a nudge.

"Please, Lexa. If you just let the medicine take effect and get a few solid hours of sleep, you'll be fine by morning and this will all be over. _Please_."

Lexa turned fully to face her now, chewing her bottom lip.

"One condition."

Clarke narrowed her eyes seriously.

"Fine. Name it."

Lexa's voice was nothing more than a thin rasp, timid.

"Stay with me."

Clarke felt a strange warmth spread throughout her chest, the final knot in her stomach unfurling at last. Stunned, she stared blankly for a moment, before the clarity returned to her eyes.

She nodded, genuinely touched by the request.

"Of course."

The Commander let out a sigh she seemed to have been holding in since last night.

It wasn't just enervation. It was relief.

Which meant she'd been afraid about this since the very beginning. She'd never wanted her people to find out. She'd never wanted to die over a few coughs.

Clarke was glad to know now that she wouldn't have to.

Lexa moved her legs back up onto the hammock, and Clarke's added weight prevented it from swaying too much.

Once the brunette was settled, lying on her back, Clarke picked up the previously-discarded rag. It was still cool and slightly damp, definitely still useful. Slowly, she made a move to press it back onto Lexa's forehead.

The Commander didn't flinch as Clarke's fingers brushed against her bangs, the chill of the rag inadvertently causing her to shiver. Clarke turned her hand over, letting her knuckles feel the girl's skin for a moment before withdrawing.

"The fever's dying down," she reported. "How's your stomach?"

Lexa turned her face to one side.

"It's fine."

"What about the congestion? The pills should start taking effect soon."

Her hand traveled down from Lexa's forehead, following the outline of her cheek, then her neck. Gently, Clarke repositioned her hand over her collar. The raggedness of Lexa's breaths had dwindled significantly, and her pulse wasn't nearly as rapid.

Still, Lexa didn't look up at her.

Using her free hand, Clarke took the cloth from her forehead and padded it all along her temples, then to the sides of her face and neck.

"Listen," she murmured. "Lexa, I know how hard this must be for you. I know it feels like you're..." While she hesitated to find a word, Lexa filled it in for her.

"Weak."

Clarke sighed.

"I know it must feel like that. If feels like your own body is betraying you. If that happens with one of your warriors, you just have to punish them and it's over. But you can't punish yourself by pushing your body beyond its limits. You'll make things worse, not better."

She brought the cloth back up to Lexa's bangs and dabbed it carefully along her hair line.

"This isn't an enemy you can fight with swords. It's not an enemy you can negotiate with. And I know that's frustrating for you."

Clarke pulled her hands away, dropping the now-dry cloth back into her bag. Her eyes traced over Lexa's form, still seeking her gaze. But it remained hidden. Clarke longed to earn it back.

"I know you're used to fighting with your sword and your wit, Lexa. But for a battle like this, none of those things can help you. Like it or not, this kind of fight requires someone else's help. You can't do it on your own. You've got to ask for help, and then be told you need to stay in bed. It's infuriating, isn't it?"

At last, she was blessed with a turn of the head, a rustle of the sheets and hair. The two green orbs of the earth met the blue orbs of the sky. Clarke smiled.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this. I know you're not accustomed to fighting this way. It's foreign to you, and you feel helpless."

Her hand moved again, this time to find Lexa's. Gradually, she slipped her fingers through the Commander's, lacing them together, then feeling a squeeze.

"But asking for help isn't a sign of weakness, Lexa. It's a sign of strength. Intelligence. It shows you're not an idiot who'd rather work herself to death and leave her people unadvised than swallow a pill." She squeezed Lexa's hand in return, unable to tear her gaze away.

"And it shows you've got someone you can trust. With anything. I'm always on your side, Lexa. I'll do... whatever I can for you, so don't hesitate to ask for me. I need you."

By now, her fingers were trembling in between Lexa's, nails digging gently into the back of her hand.

Lexa was still for a moment, her eyes calculating as they traveled up and down the Sky Girl's person. She parted her lips, and when she spoke, it was clear and steady now.

"I need you too, Clarke."

Hearing those words was a catalyst for a familiar stinging sensation to rise up behind her eyes. Clarke closed them briefly, nodding her head to let Lexa know she'd heard loud and clear.

She sighed again, trying to keep the tears back as she reopened her eyes. Lexa was still watching her, looking like she needed to say so much more than just the words that were coming out of her mouth.

One squeezed the other's hand, and the other squeezed back.

Clarke leaned over her slightly, as though shielding her from some present but intangible threat. The hand that wasn't entwined with Lexa's moved on its own, settling against the Commander's opposite side. The touch of her palm spread a slight bit of warmth through her, and Lexa momentarily closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Clarke." Her chest rose and fell with another tired breath. The pills were taking effect, and not even Lexa couldn't fight it for much longer. "Thank you... for coming. For everything."

"No need to thank me," she murmured. "But you're welcome anyway. Just get better. I know you will. A little cold is nothing for the mighty Commander."

She watched as a tiny smirk curled up on Lexa's lips.

"You're right."

Clarke reflected the smile, and though Lexa couldn't see it, she could hear it.

"You'll be fine in the morning. You'll probably wake up before sunset. Do whatever you have to do then. Reassure your people. Do a bit of work, but only a bit. Eat something. Then come back and rest. That's all you need to do, Lexa."

"That I can handle," she mumbled. "I'll... be sure to send you a message. I don't want you to worry."

"That's not possible," Clarke chuckled. "Even though I know you'll be fine, I'm going to worry anyway until I see you again for myself."

Lexa's eyelashes fluttered, and she struggled to lift them once more, managing only a half-lidded result.

"Very well. I'll send for you. For real this time. We can rendezvous... in secrecy..."

Clarke chuckled again.

"Sounds good to me."

Lexa's vision became unfocused as the exhaustion finally took its toll. Clarke rubbed over her stomach gently, coaxing her to close her eyes once more.

"Rest," she urged her. "I'll see you tomorrow."

All Lexa could manage by means of response at this point was another small nod. Her eyelids fell shut, and the grip on Clarke's hand went loose.

For a moment, Clarke was almost apprehensive when she didn't feel Lexa breathing. But it was there, a very slow, very controlled rise and fall. It was nothing like the shallow, uncertain breaths that had ailed her previously. This was as good a sign as any that Lexa was already well on the path to a swift and efficient recovery.

Still, Clarke didn't like leaving her alone like this. She didn't want anyone blundering in and finding Lexa resting, appearing weak.

So she did just as Lexa had asked her to.

She stayed.

She tried to pass the time by looking around the room, but nothing there interested her more than the girl beside her.

Past the outside commotion of the camp, she listened to Lexa's breathing, tracing her fingertips down over her wrist to catch her pulse.

It was her turn to watch over Lexa.

She felt like a guardian.

The sky protecting the earth.

After an hour or so had passed, she felt bold enough to give in.

Running a hand up through Lexa's thick, dark hair, she brushed the Commander's bangs aside. Leaning down, Clarke pressed a light kiss to her temple.

She felt Lexa shift beneath her, but she didn't wake. After all, kisses woke princesses, not commanders.

Musing as much to herself, she finally slipped away, stretching her legs.

To her knowledge, the pills would only have Lexa asleep for a short while longer, and after that, she'd be up and about.

And Clarke knew she'd probably worried enough of her own people by now.

It was time to head back.

She'd meet with Lexa again tomorrow, and many times after that.

Like the earth and sky, they were inseparable, soul mates of an exceptionally rare kind. One couldn't exist without the other. They were connected, reliant on one another, forever meant to be by each other's side.

Clarke gathered her things and prepared to take her leave.

But naturally, something drew her back to Lexa's side one last time.

For a moment, she was still, simply admiring the ruthless leader now calmed by slumber. She breathed like any other girl, and her lips parted slightly, her eyelashes fluttering on occasion.

But Clarke knew there weren't any nightmares – not today.

Carefully, she reached across to slip her hand beneath Lexa's. Her sleeve was still rolled up from earlier, revealing every scar. Clarke lifted it to her lips, then held a long kiss to her wrist. Lexa's pulse fluttered beneath, strong and healthy now.

At last, Clarke rolled her sleeve back down, concealing the secret for only its receiver to recognize. One last run of her fingers through those intricate braids, and Clarke stepped away.

"Sweet dreams."

She turned away, and headed out, never realizing the small smile from behind her that had formed at her words.

Each anticipated the morning.

Tomorrow was a new day.

Dawn would unite them as it always had, bathing both earth and sky in a warm, golden light that neither would ever find anywhere else.

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 **A/N: I have no excuse. I'm just weak to Clexa and fluff. Sorry if anyone seemed OOC or anything like that. I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Please review!**


	2. Midnight Sun

**A commission for melancholicsnow, who asked for some Clexa. Which I really needed since this hiatus came around.**

 **A/N: This can be unrelated to the first chapter. It's meant to stand alone.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100.**

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Midnight Sun

Sneaking out wasn't always easy.

Especially when they were both more or less the highest-ranking members of their respective parties.

They had their plates full in every sense but the literal one: chores to complete, people to train, weapons to inspect, and all for the measly reward of a half-cooked rabbit leg and a palm-full of muddy water.

They'd both grown accustomed to it all over the months, one more so than the other, judging by how much longer she'd been here, but Clarke was learning, too. She was learning new ways to fight, new things about new enemies, new things about old friends.

But more importantly than all of that, she was learning new ways to sneak out.

Another successful combination of twisted words and convincing smiles had allowed her to slip away from the camp in solitude. She didn't know what methods Lexa used to dismiss her guards and convince them to let her go off into the woods alone at such a late hour, but Clarke knew by now it was pointless to ask.

She can see her now, waiting, leaning against the trunk of a forked pine tree broken by time and wind. Her arms are crossed in that patiently impatient way of hers, her solid posture that of a highly-skilled Commander, and yet if you hadn't been looking for her, you'd have walked right past.

She shifts like a shadow in the velvet twilight, her eyes narrowing as she hears footsteps approaching. Only when she realizes it is who she'd been expecting does she finally seem to do what she so rarely did. She lets her guard down, and though the creeping darkness makes it difficult to tell, Clarke is willing to bet that her lips are curling up into that minuscule smirk she loves so much.

Clarke had trudged for nearly fifteen minutes to get here, and the voices of her camp were far, far behind her. So she is given a boost of motivation in hearing hers.

"You're late."

Clarke sighs, advancing over the crumpled leaves and stiff grasses with a twitch of a smile until she reaches her.

Immediately, she is drawn in by her presence, which would've seemed larger-than-life had she not been constantly reminded of the fact that she had almost an inch of height on Lexa.

"Sorry," she offers, reaching up to run nails through her own blonde locks. She watches the shift in Lexa's eyes, telling Clarke the Commander's hands are itching to do the very same.

"Sorry isn't good enough, Clarke. I was getting worried."

A step, and the Commander takes one of her hands, then the other, and squeezes.

It tells Clarke a lot of things – that even the mighty leader of the Grounders gets worried once in a blue moon, but only about the people she treasures and holds closest to her burdened heart.

Clarke understands. She feels the same.

She, too, steps in, covering the distance between them now, their noses just centimeters apart, hands squeezing back.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles again. "Can I ever make it up to you?"

Lexa's answer isn't a verbal one, but Clarke doesn't mind.

Lexa pulls her forward with a tug of the wrist, one Clarke recognizes as a display of slight discontent. She understands she's being punished for her tardiness in the best of ways.

Not wanting to upset the mighty Commander more than she already has, she easily complies, pushing her lips against hers.

It's been days since they've last done this, and the desire for it is as palpable as their heartbeats while they are pressed chest to chest.

Lexa does what she never does in any other situation. She relents, letting Clarke take control, letting the Sky Girl stifle her worries that had almost turned to anger.

Clarke is here now, and that's all that matters.

And Clarke makes the most of being here.

She's missed Lexa like a plant misses the sun.

Her energy, her drive, her reason for existence.

They are all Lexa.

With Lexa, she thrives. Without her, she withers.

And these secret rendezvous are always a time to blossom.

So she does just that, presses her lips like soft petals over her mouth, slips her arms like vines around the small of her back, nips like thorns at her lips.

She is desperate. She needs her sunlight.

And Lexa gives it. She always does. She gives her warmth and her strength and even her breath to Clarke.

She'd give anything. Because she needs her, too.

Clarke is more than a responsibility. She is Lexa's purpose, the justification for her own life.

She always tells herself that Clarke is nothing without her, and she knows she is nothing without Clarke.

The hours spent apart are worth it now as they come together, hands roaming backs, tracing sides, caressing cheeks, threading hair...

Clarke loses herself, unaware that Lexa is losing herself, too.

Lost in her. That's the direction these meetings always seem to go in.

Minutes pass, and the crickets are beginning to chirp. The sun has set, disappeared behind distant mountains and taking the yellow warmth with it.

Its absence almost makes Clarke more ravenous, more desperate for her own sun.

She doesn't want her to go.

But they both know she must.

It is when Lexa breaks the kiss that Clarke gives a grunt of disapproval, not aimed towards the Commander, but towards herself, regretting her own tardy arrival. Had she come on time, she would've gotten to make those kisses last longer.

But she knows it is inevitable, as dusk always is.

So with one last kiss, one last breath into her lungs, one last reminder of her presence, she steps back.

Lexa catches her breath quietly, trying to appear more reserved than she feels after Clarke stole it away so easily. Her eyes travel up and down the Sky Girl, but ultimately stay at her face, content to find she is also slightly breathless.

She makes a move to depart, and Clarke can't help but try to stop her, pleading.

"Lexa, _please.._."

But she knows it is fruitless. Wishful thinking. They both have to get back to their camps.

But Lexa is feeling merciful tonight. Though part of her would like to let Clarke suffer the repercussions for her failure to be punctual, another part wants to reward her for showing up unharmed and for showing up at all.

So she reaches up a hand and rests the crease of her gloved palm against Clarke's cheek.

Clarke covers it with her own, leaning into it, eyes closed. She wants one last kiss before they have to part.

And just as the sun always does, Lexa gives.

She pecks her lips against Clarke's, barely hard enough to satisfy her for now, and just soft enough to leave her pining for more.

But Clarke knows she'll have to wait.

Lexa steps away and whispers as she passes.

"Don't be late next time."

And she is gone, vanished into the night just like the sun.

But Clarke knows the night always ends, and the sun always returns tomorrow.

She will be back.

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 **A/N: Ah, so this is actually my first time trying out this tense with my writing. It was a little odd for me, but fun! I hope it read well!**

 **Please review!**


	3. Waking To Her

**Commission for the-heart-alchemist! There isn't really any direct relation to the previous chapters, but this can still fit into this fic. Different POV, mainly Clarke's.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own The 100.**

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Chapter 3. Waking To Her

Waking was like bursting from the depths of a frigid, unforgiving ocean.

As you jolt upright in bed, it feels like you're surfacing from the torrid dark waters, gasping for breath you never thought you'd find again. Your mind is black, images of blood – _her_ blood – still running fresh in every thought, pounding in every beat of your heightened pulse.

Shaking, you clutch yourself with enough desperation to hold yourself together, though it feels like a few of the pieces may have already chipped off somewhere along the way. You can feel the veil of sweat clinging to every inch of skin the blankets expose, your hair sticking to the back of your neck where your spine shivers underneath.

A rather violent shudder works its way through your form, and the heavy breaths tumbling from your mouth are interrupted by a cough, with fragmented wheezes of her name mixed in. Even more poignant than the sweat beading on your forehead are the tears, hot and stinging, almost enough to burn your cheeks on their way down to your chin and the side of your neck.

You can't help but feel that you can still smell the blood, still feel it pooling between your fingers as you press down over the bullet wound to no avail. When you pull your palms away from your sides, they are wet, and not even the soft glow of the candlelight surrounding you can shed light on the fact that it's your own panic and nothing more.

But as the seconds pass by, you begin to register where you are, what is happening. The plush of the blankets and mattress beneath you are a drastic source of comfort as opposed to the crushing breathlessness you'd been trapped within only mere heartbeats ago. The room is illuminated in a warm yellow tint, nothing like the cold, dreadful waters that have been drowning you up until now.

All you can hear are your own breaths, ragged and painful, and all you can feel is the pounding throughout your body, its epicenter somewhere deep within your chest.

For a brief instance, that is all you are - a trembling, sobbing shell, cold and confused in a space that should've been safe.

And then suddenly, you aren't alone.

Motion creaks the bed on your left side, and a ruffling of blankets alerts you to it. You turn your face, vision shifting in and out of focus as you peer through the screen of your own hair. Your heart jumps, and you're not sure if it's terror or relief that you feel upon seeing her there, right beside you, just as she's always been.

Either way, it's all you can do to force out your voice, and even though your body hardly remembers how to speak, she is the one thing your very existence will never forget.

" _Lexa_..."

She is the one thing you don't have to remember, because you know you could never forget.

Broken and helpless, you turn to her, wide-eyed as the tears continue to spill over and down, making damp spots on the fabrics over your lap.

You wish you had more time to admire her like this, olive skin humbly highlighted by the glow of the flames, the ink of her tattoos just barely peeking over the side of her arm, the earthy cascade of hair wreathing around her shoulders and all down her back.

But despite all her ethereal beauty, her expression was as panicked as you felt, green eyes wide, lips parted slightly, trying to make sense of it all.

For a moment, you simply stare at one another, as though it were the first and last time you'd be able to.

Though the reality was right there in front of you, staring you in the face, you were still having trouble believing it, accepting it.

You'd heard her last words. Seen her last breath. Felt her last heartbeat.

You'd watched her die – you were sure of it.

Nothing else could explain this hollowness consuming you, this sickening sensation that your entire being meant nothing anymore now that she was gone, the twisting thorns plunging deep into your soul to tear it into pieces now that it had nothing left to exist for.

You both needed a moment to register everything, but it was a moment apart from each other that neither of you could spare.

You try to find the strength to repeat her name, wanting to encourage her to speak, to move, to breathe.

But even without your efforts she blesses you with all three at once.

" _Clarke_..."

The way she says your name has never changed, even after all this time, even after all you've been through.

It is the epitome of intimacy, the embodiment of trust. It resonates within you more strongly than any pulse. Your name on her lips is the very sound of your existence.

And that's what makes this real. You're _sure_ it's real now.

You can hear the deep-rooted concern in her tone, concern so familiar you've got to wonder if you've heard her sound any other way more often than this. You can see the shadows on the veins of her neck, jolting slightly in time with her pulse, which is frantic enough for you to see; though given her calm exterior, you never would've guessed there was a storm raging inside of her.

Only seconds have passed since you woke, and even fewer since she'd risen. But the things you are seeing in each other's eyes were enough to last a lifetime.

The relief was too great for you. You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering one last time, feeling as your face contorts with more and more tears.

" _Lexa_..."

Your voice trembles, and your body follows suit, all but collapsing against her. It is a soft fall, inevitable, but soft, and the landing is like the one you'd always dreamed of. A piece of the sky finally embraced by the earth, a calm, quiet landing after a rampant descent.

In her arms, you can finally rest.

She pulls you in without hesitation, and you've never felt so terrifyingly vulnerable before. Nor have you ever felt so precious, like you've ever _meant_ this much to anyone before.

Her arms rest around you, one supporting your shoulders, the other your back. Her palms help keep the pieces together, while her fingers remind you of the straightness of your hair, pulling through, the very essence of comfort.

It's all you can do to move your arms around her too, fingers quivering at the center of her back, unsure. You want to clutch her to you more tightly than ever before, but you don't want to break her. You know better than anyone how durable she pretends to be, and how fragile she truly is.

So you settle for something in between the two, fervent but gentle, ginger but desperate. You bury your face into the side of her neck and sob, unable to compose yourself enough to do otherwise.

You're sure she knows what's happened. After all, this wouldn't be the first time. She's had her fair share of nightmares, and you've been there for her as often as you could.

You'd always hated to see her so flustered, so terrified, so helpless. You'd always comforted her with the hopes of giving her strength back.

And you were glad to know you'd succeeded. Because that was exactly what she was doing for you right now.

It was astounding. All she did was hold you. All she did was exist. And you could already feel yourself coming back to life. She pulled you out of the depths of the place where she no longer drew breath, and coaxed you into the world where she inhaled your presence and exhaled your name.

You knew it was real now. It had to be. Not even the world-shattering realness of fabricated dreams could compare to this – to _her_.

She is reality. She is the realm where everything you are makes sense. She is where your soul exists.

You've been with her for as long as you can remember, and you'll be with her for long after remembering is no longer possible.

Even so, you can never seem to have enough time with her. So you're almost grateful to the terrors that had woken you both. At the very least, it has given you more time to be conscious together.

Her embrace on you never loosens, at least not more than what allowed you to shift about in whatever way was best for you. And you didn't fancy the idea of letting her go anytime soon, either.

The throbbing in your chest is still fervent, and it worries you. Not because you are concerned about the condition of your own heart, but because it is preventing you from feeling hers.

You choke back another sob, one that racks your body. Her lips press to the shell of your ear and hush you, reminding you it's all okay. But you want to be sure. You _have_ to be sure.

Keeping one hand pressed into the small of her back, you slowly move the other, bringing it around her side and pausing there. Your fingers fan out over the ridges of her ribcage, and for a moment, you still yourself as much as you can.

You wait until you can feel her breathing, a little quickly, but otherwise unobstructed. Nothing at all like the frenzied gasps that had hitched in her lungs after the bullet had pierced her.

The images came back to you vividly then, and you winced against her shoulder, gritting your teeth. She kisses you again, this time on the temple, still whispering reassurance, still reciting your name like a prayer.

"Clarke... it's all right. I'm here."

She always knows exactly what you need to hear. Your name has never sounded so precious, so tender.

Even despite your own trauma, it is clear to you that she's scared, too. She always gets scared, no matter how many times this has happened.

Because she doesn't know how to stop it. She doesn't know if she's doing all she can to make it better. She thinks there might be something more she should be doing.

But this is all that it takes. The fact that she's scared for you means so much more than you could ever explain.

She shows fear to no one else, _for_ no one else. Her showing you fear is her showing you trust, showing you the most defenseless side of herself. You are her only weakness, and somehow that knowledge seems to give you strength.

You tighten your hold, just to feel her, just to make sure. Her ribs expand and deflate beneath your palm, her chest heaving in time against yours.

As you finally regain some semblance of control over yourself, you realize you're not the only one shaking. You can hear it in her stifled whimpers, feel it in the hitch of her breath that she's fighting back tears.

Because she can't bear to see you like this. It distresses her beyond explanation, to see you faced with demons she can't pierce with a sword or frighten off with a snarl. When the nightmares haunt you, she is helpless to prevent it, and she can't bear that truth. It makes her feel insufficient, unworthy of you.

Eventually, it wears her down, and you can taste the exact moment in the air even before she whispers.

"I'm sorry..."

That's when you know you've let it go on for too long. That's your cue to steel yourself and recover – now.

"No."

Firmly, but gently, you deny her apology. With great effort, you coax yourself away from her, just what's necessary so that you can see into her eyes. Those eyes that hold another world, one you can only reach by being here, with her.

"Don't apologize," you rasp. "Please..."

Your tears have dried by now, but you know you must've looked awful.

Because however you look right now is enough to elicit tears from her, one from each eye. She dips her head in the slightest of nods, and you can tell the tears are more relief than anything.

But still, you don't like to see them - not on her.

So you slide your hands up over her arms to clear the wetness away, brushing the backs of your fingers over her cheeks, where the smeared black war paint is absent for once. She leans – ever so slightly – into the creases of your palm and closes her eyes, letting out a sigh so fragile, so tired.

But you know it's not you she's tired of.

It's all of _this_.

It's the fact that the way you both are living warrants such complete exhaustion on a day-to-day basis.

She does so much, she owes so much.

All she wants is freedom, but she knows she can't have that for as long as she's alive.

But perhaps you let her feel that liberation, just for a few hours every night.

Closing the distance between yourselves, you seal her lips with a small, tentative kiss. Your hands remain at her sides, and hers remain at your shoulders.

It's not like the kisses you'd shared before the sun went down. It is softer, calmer, less eager, but still with an indescribable passion of its own kind. Light and brief, but that doesn't make the feeling behind it any less fierce.

And it seems to heal you both; you from the unease of the nightmare, and her from the uncertainty of how to respond.

It makes you realize you're both okay, makes you remember it's acceptable to have moments when you can feel that you are.

Your lips tremble against hers, and you can tell she's doing her best not to worry more. You feel the sharp little intake of her breath just before it fans out against your teeth – a welcome intrusion.

You sigh – more relief – and your mouth closes on her bottom lip for a split second, tugging gently, as if trying to pull her in closer.

It may not have been a conscious intention, but it works, and she follows the pull of your lips, leaning into you until her chest is pressed hard against yours - a stable, grounding pressure.

As the kiss comes to an end for now, you feel her cheek brush against yours, her chin settling atop your shoulder, her arms locking securely around you. Her pulse beats hard over yours, moving your soul.

It pounds in your ribcage, reverberating like cries of her name on your lips.

And it flutters quietly in your neck, echoing like the whispers you have to keep secret from the rest of the world.

You know this is real, that the vision of stray bullets and pooling blood are nothing more than a cruel trick of the mind and senses.

You know this is real, but still, you let her linger like this, just so you can feel how alive she truly is.

She breathes, and only when she does so do you truly remember how to.

Your fingers move through her hair, threading and curling in an effort to somehow touch every strand of impossibly intricate braids. Your palms glide over her back, mapping your own patterns over the circles of ink running all down her spine.

At first glance, her skin appears smooth and flawless. But you know every scar that mars her complexion, every old wound that never healed properly, every blister and callous from all the excruciating effort she's put into living.

Your fingertips can't help but pass over them now, as many as they can reach. You feel the minuscule bumps on either side of each tiny cut, like the ridges of earth on either side of a fault line.

But no matter how many times she's been shaken, no matter how many times she's bled, she's still here, miraculously in one piece.

You want to worship her like she deserves. You'll never stop trying to.

Cautiously, your hand flits around to her left side, once again running the path of her ribs. You come up across her collar, and then down to the center, pausing on the scar that resides there.

It is faded, one of her oldest, from a time when she was still fresh and inexperienced in this line of work.

It was a mistake she'd never let happen again.

It was the closest anyone had ever gotten to her heart.

Until now.

Only _you_ weren't a mistake.

It still made you shudder, to think about how she might've gotten that scar. She's told you the story once before, in light detail, trying to play it off as something unimportant, insignificant.

But you've imagined it so many times, her vicious first battle as the Commander of her people, brutally valiant and terrifyingly fragile. You could picture it as though you'd witnessed it firsthand, the sword of some treasonous opponent coming down on her, hard enough to pierce her armor and make the olive skin underneath split in two.

But even in such a horrid state, she'd still prevailed, never once considering that lying down and dying might've been the easiest route in all of this.

She's never bled since - not like that, anyway.

But you know it is this scar that's prompted most of these nightmares that haunt you. The thought of her being wounded beyond repair is the most terrifying prospect you've ever had to consider, even despite the chaos of the world around you. The debilitating fear of that thought is matched only by the life-giving relief to know she is safe, in your arms, right now.

It feels like hours have passed, and it seems like a miracle that the candles haven't already burned out their wicks. You're comfortably trapped in a diaphanous silence, and you realize your pulse has synched with hers.

That silence is broken by her cautious voice, flitting at the shell of your ear.

"How bad was it?"

It wasn't a command to tell her. It was an invitation, so you knew that she was willing to listen if you were willing to talk.

You swallow thickly, hold her tighter.

"Pretty bad," you wheeze. "...Can we talk about something else?"

Gently, she coaxes you back, until her earthen gaze catches the storm in your pools of sky.

"We don't have to talk at all."

It takes you a second to understand why this conversation sounds so familiar, until you realize you've already had it, some undefined amount of hours earlier.

She keeps her arms around you and leans herself back, silently asking if this is what you want. You confirm with a careful forward nudge to her shoulders, pushing her down gingerly until her back bounces against the soft plush of the bed and blankets beneath.

For a brief second, there is a devastating distance between your bodies, until her arms find purchase around your shoulders and bring you down with her.

She cradles you close, unabashedly, something she's never done for anyone else before, or ever will do for anyone else again. You can't help but feel overcome by just how privileged you are to be here, right now, with her.

She is still beneath you, telling you without words that she'll do whatever it takes in order for you to feel better, even if that turns out to be nothing at all.

That's all you could ever ask of her, for 'nothing at all' to be equivalent to 'everything'.

And it is, at least for you.

You drape one arm across her stomach, idly tracing your palm over the spot where the bullet had lodged itself too deeply inside. She must've felt your hand tremble, because she reaches hers up and places it over yours.

"Shhh..."

Only after she's hushed you do you realize you're on the verge of tears again. She reaches up with her free hand, curls her fingers delicately around the back of your head, through your hair, and brings you down over her. Sniffling, you comply with ease.

Though you're often the one to heal her in a physical sense, she does it just as effectively in a spiritual one.

Before long, your head is resting against her collar, and you turn sideways until your ear can pick up on the sound you've been seeking. You find it, the strong and steady rhythm like the persistent beating of war drums, only this time it sings in antebellum.

Her heart is the only thing that can soothe you, assure that what you're feeling and hearing right now is the truth. Though there is an inevitable, lingering fear that the next pulse could be the last, that something could hitch or hinder it before ultimately causing it to stop altogether.

But it never does, at least, not tonight.

You listen for a moment, recognizing the unique way her rhythm plays. Rather than two pulses between perfectly-spaced pauses to compose a single beat, her heart is different, ever so slightly. The pair of pulses that combine to form one sacred beat in her heart are closer together, with a slightly longer pause of silence in between, a harmless arrhythmia that creates a melody all its own.

She sighs, and you feel it. Her stomach dips beneath your palm as you trace circles there, affirming over and over that there is no wound, no blood.

She lets you do whatever you need to in order to feel okay. Her arms remain loosely around your back, petting gently, allowing you to move however is most comfortable.

You relish her touch, lazy but deliberate, its purpose having no purpose at all. You can hear every rush of air into her lungs, feel every rise and fall of her chest as she exhales. It is an innocent intimacy no one else will ever know.

For a time, this much is enough.

But you soon feel that you need more, just a little bit more.

Greed is the last of your intentions, but you can't help but feel needy when you shift yourself, seeking more. She remains still, letting you do what is best for yourself.

You only move for a second before settling once again, this time with your head a little lower down, at the very center of her chest.

Here, her heartbeat is strongest. It is louder, fuller, and more alive than anywhere else.

It fills your head, slips its way into your body, and dances through your veins.

You'd be content to stay here until time ran out of seasons to give.

But being this close to her, you can feel every part of her, so you don't miss the minuscule tremor in her breath.

Immediately, you lift your head to gaze up at her, fearing you've done something you shouldn't have. Perhaps your touch has aggravated the old wound, perhaps she was finding it difficult to breathe.

Horrified, you choke out her name.

"Lexa-"

But she stops you, gently, with a single glance.

"I'm alright," she assures. "I promise."

That's something she's never done before. But you know with every fiber of your being that it's genuine. She wouldn't lie to you, not about something like this.

She smiles, and it's tired, but not of you. Never of you.

Her hands stroke up and down your back as your fingers subconsciously curl into the soft skin of her stomach.

"Rest," she breathes. "It's alright, Clarke."

You've never believed those words quite so completely before.

After a moment, you return to your prior position, softly resting you head over her heart. You feel her jolt again, so tiny that it's almost undetectable.

But this time, you realize it isn't pain that ails her.

She's trying to let you get as close as possible without thinking about it. She _trusts_ you, and that is why she's nervous.

Because she's never trusted anyone else like this before.

Because she's never let anyone else this close.

You feel the need to thank her for that.

So you turn your face just an inch, so that you're pressing your lips over her heart, cherishing her in the only conceivable way you know how to in this moment.

You feel her fingers twitch over yours, her nails scraping timidly. You slide your hand down from her stomach to her hip, drawing her closer still as you rest your head once more.

You close your eyes and focus on her – just her.

On the rush of air that fills her lungs, and the consequent, placid rocking of her chest beneath yours.

On the lingering taste of her lips on yours, mixed with the faintest hint of salt.

On the scent of candlelit midnight, rustic gunpowder, and fresh earth.

You count the beats of her heart as the rhythm overlaps your own.

And you listen until you can't hear anymore.

You rest easily with her tonight, taking comfort in the knowledge that she'll still be there when dawn breaks.

You won't lose her, no matter how much time passes, no matter how many seasons fade, no matter how many times the planet shatters and is reborn.

Even if you lose hold of her, it will never be for long.

You'll find her again.

You always do.

* * *

 **A/N: I love writing this POV and I feel I do it best with it's in regards to Clexa. I'll never accept that Lexa's dead. She'll never die. We won't let her.**

 **Please review!**


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